


Trick or Treat

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: It's Illya's first Halloween in America.  Written for the 2016 Scrapbook Halloween Challenge





	

 

Illya Kuryakin liked to think of himself as a man of the world. After all, he’d been born in the USSR, received his schooling in Paris and then London and now worked in New York City for an international organization.  There were many places he hadn’t been and plenty he’d be happy to never see again.  However nothing had prepared him for the invasion.

He was reviewing Del Floria’s logs when the first wave burst through the door, sending the bells jingling in a crazed way.

Illya instantly went for his weapon, then it registered that these were mere children.     THRUHS was sending children to attack them now?

“Trick or treat,” they shouted in unison as they thrust paper bags at Del.

For his part, the man laughed and reached under his counter. “So what have we here?  A witch, a soldier and two pirates?  Very nicely done.”  He passed over chocolate bars.

“Cool! The cops were just handing out apples!” the smallest hobo shouted.  He tore into his and crammed the candy into his mouth.

“Thank you,” a taller girl, obviously the person in charge, prompted and a chorus of, “Thank you!” preceded their exit.

Illya watched until the last one left. “What was that?”

“What was what, Mr. Kuryakin? The children?  Oh, we decided to let the neighborhood children to treat or trick during the day.  It’s much safer for them.”

“But what was it?”

The dressing room curtain was pushed aside and Napoleon Solo stepped out.   The door rang again and the process was repeated with another group of children.  Some had store bought costumes, but mostly it was whatever they could cobble together.  It didn’t seem to matter to any of them.

“I don’t understand,” Illya finally admitted.

“Understand what, Illya?” Napoleon waved after the children and then turned back to his partner.

“This… begging procedure.”

“It’s not begging, it’s trick or treating.” Napoleon waited for a moment.  “You know, trick or treat?” He paused.  “Halloween?  You do know Halloween, All Hallows night?”

“I… I have heard of it in passing… but.”

“I know exactly what to do. I just happen to have an invitation to a Halloween party tomorrow night for me and a date.”

“I beg your pardon?” Illya snapped and Del Floria chuckled.

“My guest, then. You will be my guest.”

“I am not sure… Will it involved this?” He gestured after the children. 

“We won’t be going out to trick or treat, but I am sure there will be some treats involved and maybe even a trick or two. What do you say?”

“I have the option of saying no?”

“Not really.”

“Then all right, I will accept your invitation.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot, costumes are mandatory.”

“Costume? I do not dress up in costumes.”

“Are you kidding? That’s not what I hear from Section Eight.”

Illya drew himself up. “That is different.  That is work related.”

“So look at this as learning experience.”   He laughed at Illya’s glare.

 

“So how goes the cat burglar? “ It had taken Napoleon some wheeling and dealing to get Illya to acquiesce to wear a costume.  However, when Napoleon has made the suggestion of the guise of ‘Pooseycat’ from their latest affair, Illya had leapt at it.   So had the female guests at the party.  More than one trailed after him, casting looks of hopeless devotion at him.

“Very successful, thank you.” Illya glanced over his shoulder and smirked just a little.

“You seem to have a following.”

“It’s a burden, but one that I will willingly shoulder.” Illya lifted a cocktail glass to Napoleon.

“What are you drinking?”

“Something called a zombie.” Illya drained the glass.  “They are very good.”

“They are also mostly rum. I’d watch yourself.”

Illya made a rude noise as he exchanged his empty glass for another full glass. “Napoleon, I practically grew up on vodka.”

“Rum isn’t vodka.” Napoleon draped a familiar arm over Illya’s shoulders.  “What say we hit the buffet?”

“The little sandwiches are very good.”

“Oh and how many have you had to make that determination?”

“Just a few.”

“Dozen, I’ll wager.” Napoleon began to fill a plate and handed it to Illya.  He took the glass in exchange for silverware.  “Here.  Just do me a favor and eat that before you drink anything else.”

“When can we go home?”

“We just got here. Give it another hour.”

*****

Napoleon shifted his paper bag from one hand to another and knocked carefully on Illya’s door. He wasn’t sure how Illya was doing, but considering how his head felt, Napoleon was going to err on the side of caution.

“Illya?” he asked through the door. When there wasn’t any response, he let himself in.  “Illya?” He tried again, slightly louder.

“Must you shout?”

Napoleon followed the direction of the voice and found his partner sprawled out on the sofa. “You okay?”

“If you are any kind of partner, you will shoot me now and put me out of my misery.”

“Bad, huh? I warned you about the zombies.”

“It wasn’t that.”

“The pumpkin pie eating contest you won?”

“No,” Illya moaned. “Not that.”

“The fourteen plates of buffet food?” Illya burped, but otherwise remained silent. “Then what, Illya?”

“I think it was the apple bobbing.”

“I don’t follow… how did apple bobbing lead to..?” Napoleon gestured to the rumpled, pale-faced caricature of his partner.

“I couldn’t get the apple, but I discovered if I drank some of the fluid, I could trap the apple in the process.”

Illya’s eyes started to cross and Napoleon helped him quickly to his feet. They hurried to the bathroom and Illya made the toilet just in time.

Napoleon waited quietly until Illya finished emptying his stomach and flopped back against the bathtub, his face white. Napoleon wrung out a wash cloth and passed it over to him.

“Illya, I have to ask. How did drinking too much water make you hungover?”

“Only if you swear on your honor as an UNCLE agent that it will go no further than this room.”

“You have my word.”

“They didn’t use water. They used vodka.”

Napoleon smiled at that. No wonder Illya wanted it kept quiet.  A Russian who couldn’t hold his vodka would be an object of ridicule.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t say a word.  Your secret is safe with me.”

“If only I believed that.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
